My mother she was one with palms pressed
Asking for help..
Help to feed us,
Help to keep her afloat.
You listened, wait what was that?
you didn't...
Na you played her, used her trust
in you like a torment, she looked to
the heavens and all you gave was hell..
Men were less than what she saw,
but always too late.
Married in your place
of every prayer.
But you just kept knocking her down there.
Last time I went to church was
because there was free chocolate.
You see with me, my mother grasped at
straws. She went from one form of you
to another like a ****** clinging to a new fix.
But you were just like before, same old ****,
different day...
I knew long before you weren't one to be trusted?
Why you ask? Because there where ones before you..
I read your book in the fantasy section.
This thing needed a
Parental Guidance Sticker.
Some contorted morals, thrown in with what
can be only described as a WFT's.
I knew that those at these places of worship
peddling there own version of this god..
Didn't believe there own words, so why the hell
would I be gullible enough to be a sheep in there world.
The last time I went to church,
was for free chocolate.
The last time she went was in a coffin..
Slam poetry
